Intercepted (Page 32)

I can’t look away as every last trace of his pouty loser face (yes, that’s what I call it) disappears and a shit-eating grin takes its place.

“Aw snap!” He glances at me from behind the wheel. “My master plan worked! Let you beat me, steal your heart.”

I snort. “You’re so full of shit! I beat you fair and square and you know it.”

“I do not.” He shakes his head. “You fell into my trap!”

We’re laughing so hard, my cheeks are sore from smiling and we can barely hear the radio. So much so, I almost don’t notice it when the DJ says a familiar—and unwelcome—name.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks, staring.

“Turn that up.” I point to the radio. I don’t mean to whisper, but I can’t speak any louder.

“Okay?” Gavin turns up the volume.

“And if you don’t remember, this Gregory Thomas guy—who has quite the record, by the way—attacked the girlfriend of Denver Mustangs player Chris Alexander. She managed to escape to quarterback Gavin Pope’s house. Thankfully, she’s fine and hopefully, with Thomas now in custody, she’ll be able to rest a little better tonight.”

Holy shit.

Gavin turns the radio down when the music starts playing again, but doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I don’t know how long I stare at the illuminated station numbers before my brain starts to function again. But the second it does, I reach to the floor and snatch my phone out of my purse. Sure enough, I have five missed calls and one new message.

I unlock it and push play, letting the message play on the speaker. I’m gonna tell Gavin all about it anyways, so it’s easier for me if he hears it now.

“Good evening, Miss Harper, this is Detective Long. I hoped I’d be able to talk to you rather than leaving this in a message, but since I’ve called four times without an answer and this is bound to get out in the press shortly, I guess this will have to do. We apprehended Mr. Thomas at around seven o’clock this evening. He’s being processed and with all of the other priors and women who have come forward since your report, the DA will press for him to be held without bail. If you have any questions, feel free to give me a call.”

I play the message one more time to make sure I’ve heard him right, and after I’m sure I have, I take my first deep breath since the attack.

“Are you all right over there?” Gavin asks.

Only then do I notice we’ve pulled over on the side of the road.

I turn to him with a smile so big my cheeks ache again, unbuckle my seatbelt, and crawl on top of the center console.

“I’m better than all right. Take me home, Pope,” I say. “And I don’t mean my parents’ house.”

It’s a demand, not a request. One I punctuate with a kiss.

* * *

• • •

“OH MY GOD!” I run through my apartment and jump on my bed. “I missed you so much.”

“Are you talking to your mattress?” Gavin asks from my doorway.

“No. That’d be stupid.” I grab my pillow from under my head. “I was talking to my pillows. Here, come test them out. It’s like laying on a cloud.”

He shakes his head but starts walking over, dropping his jacket on my floor along the way. When he gets to my bed, instead of climbing in nice and slow like I thought he would, he jumps in next to me, and I’m almost sent flying off the side.

“Damn. These are amazing!” I think he says, but his face is shoved into my pillow, and I can barely understand him.

“They’re amazing?” I repeat when he rolls back over to make sure I heard him right.

“Yeah.” He’s a little out of breath from almost smothering himself. “Where’d you get them?”

“Furniture Warehouse.” I turn toward him and toss one of my legs over his. “They’re the only thing in the apartment I splurged on.”

“You’re gonna have to take me there sometime.” His hand finds its way to the back of my thigh and starts moving up and down. After a fun but eventful night, the simple touch is so relaxing, I struggle to keep my eyes open.

“Next date,” I mumble, right on the cusp of sleep.

“So there will be more dates, you’re saying. Want to make this official and be my girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I hook my ankle behind his knee and pull him on top of me. “What are the benefits like?”

“Is this how you want to play it?” he asks, and his crooked smile changes to a full-blown, teeth showing, eye crinkling, one dimple–revealing smile.

It. Is. Glorious.

“Well, it’s been a while.”

“It has, four years.” His eyes never leave mine as he inches his way closer.

“Four years . . .” I repeat, watching his eyes change from bright blue to navy.

“Are you sure?” he asks before he drops his mouth the last inches.

In answer, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. “I’ve never been so sure about something.” I lift my head off the pillow that started all this and press my lips to his.

It’s the only thing I need to do to make Gavin’s restraint snap.

He brings his mouth to mine. His soft, full lips steal all of my breath.

My back arches off the bed and pushes my soft breasts into his hard chest. The kiss becomes more insistent, more demanding. My hands travel down to his strong shoulders, pulling him even closer. I’m aware of every part of my body he’s touching, but even more so of those parts he isn’t.

It’s not at all what I remembered.

It’s so much better.

He pulls his face back and watches as his fingers grab on to the hem of my shirt and slowly raises it up and over my head. My skin is so sensitive, even the small feel of the cotton—of his fingertips—gliding up my stomach causes me to shiver.

“God. You’re so fucking beautiful.” The words come out so rough, so raw, I swear I can feel them across my skin.

“Come here,” I whisper, feeling a confidence and a boldness I’ve never felt before. My hands find their favorite position at the back of his head, his hair like silk under my fingers, and pull his face to mine.

The small gesture is like a bolt of lightning. Both of us feel it. The charge of electricity shooting through our bodies, the crackling energy surrounding us, the sparks that fly with every look, every touch, every kiss after.

He pulls his mouth away from mine, and I almost whine in protest. But then he reaches for the bottom of his shirt and he pulls it up, revealing the V cuts peeking out of his jeans and his toned abs one magnificent inch at a time.

No words.

But when a shirtless Adonis is on his knees between your legs, words aren’t necessary.

“How about we get the rest of these clothes off?” he whispers. His tongue glides down my neck, and my legs clench together.

“No more clothes is good,” I say. My voice is unrecognizable. I’m sure it’s the exact voice phone sex operators shoot for.

#Dial69ForYeeeesssssss

“Glad you agree.” One second he’s whispering in my ear, the next he’s at my feet and my jeans are nowhere to be seen.

His fingertips skate up my legs, dancing and twirling around my thighs, causing goose bumps to follow in their path. He just brushes over the fabric of my thong, but it’s enough to make my already arched back lift even higher. I don’t even get the chance to beg for more before he’s taking advantage of my position and making easy work of undoing the clasp of my bra. I hold my breath as he slides the straps off my shoulders ever . . . so . . . slowly . . . and by the time the room stops spinning, my bra and thong have joined the rest of our clothes piling up somewhere in my room.